"Willyoupleaseclearawayallthisatonce？"Iaddressedherinconvulsiveaccents，beingatthesametimeengagedingettingmypipetodraw。This，Iadmit，wasanunusualrequest。
　　Generally，ongettingupfrombreakfastIwouldsitdowninthewindowwithabookandletthemclearthetablewhentheyliked;
　　butifyouthinkthatonthatmorningIwasintheleastimpatient，youaremistaken。IrememberthatIwasperfectlycalm。AsamatteroffactIwasnotatallcertainthatIwantedtowrite，orthatImeanttowrite，orthatIhadanythingtowriteabout。No，Iwasnotimpatient。Iloungedbetweenthemantelpieceandthewindow，notevenconsciouslywaitingforthetabletobecleared。Itwastentoonethatbeforemylandlady’sdaughterwasdoneIwouldpickupabookandsitdownwithitallthemorninginaspiritofenjoyableindolence。Iaffirmitwithassurance，andIdon’tevenknownowwhatwerethebooksthenlyingabouttheroom。Whatevertheywere，theywerenottheworksofgreatmasters，wherethesecretofclearthoughtandexactexpressioncanbefound。SincetheageoffiveIhavebeenagreatreader，asisnotperhapswonderfulinachildwhowasneverawareoflearningtoread。AttenyearsofageIhadreadmuchofVictorHugoandotherromantics。IhadreadinPolishandinFrench，history，voyages，novels;Iknew"GilBlas"and"DonQuixote"inabridgededitions;IhadreadinearlyboyhoodPolishpoetsandsomeFrenchpoets，butIcannotsaywhatIreadontheeveningbeforeIbegantowritemyself。Ibelieveitwasanovel，anditisquitepossiblethatitwasoneofAnthonyTrollope’snovels。Itisverylikely。Myacquaintancewithhimwasthenveryrecent。HeisoneoftheEnglishnovelistswhoseworksIreadforthefirsttimeinEnglish。WithmenofEuropeanreputation，withDickensandWalterScottandThackeray，itwasotherwise。MyfirstintroductiontoEnglishimaginativeliteraturewas"NicholasNickleby。"ItisextraordinaryhowwellMrs。NicklebycouldchatterdisconnectedlyinPolishandthesinisterRalphrageinthatlanguage。AstotheCrummlesfamilyandthefamilyofthelearnedSqueersitseemedasnaturaltothemastheirnativespeech。Itwas，Ihavenodoubt，anexcellenttranslation。Thismusthavebeenintheyear’70。ButIreallybelievethatIamwrong。ThatbookwasnotmyfirstintroductiontoEnglishliterature。Myfirstacquaintancewas（orwere）the"TwoGentlemenofVerona，"andthatintheveryMS。
　　ofmyfather’stranslation。ItwasduringourexileinRussia，anditmusthavebeenlessthanayearaftermymother’sdeath，becauseIremembermyselfintheblackblousewithawhiteborderofmyheavymourning。Wewerelivingtogether，quitealone，inasmallhouseontheoutskirtsofthetownofT————。Thatafternoon，insteadofgoingouttoplayinthelargeyardwhichwesharedwithourlandlord，Ihadlingeredintheroominwhichmyfathergenerallywrote。WhatemboldenedmetoclamberintohischairIamsureIdon’tknow，butacoupleofhoursafterwardhediscoveredmekneelinginitwithmyelbowsonthetableandmyheadheldinbothhandsovertheMS。ofloosepages。Iwasgreatlyconfused，expectingtogetintotrouble。Hestoodinthedoorwaylookingatmewithsomesurprise，buttheonlythinghesaidafteramomentofsilencewas：
　　"Readthepagealoud。"
　　Luckilythepagelyingbeforemewasnotoverblottedwitherasuresandcorrections，andmyfather’shandwritingwasotherwiseextremelylegible。WhenIgottotheendhenodded，andIflewout-of-doors，thinkingmyselfluckytohaveescapedreproofforthatpieceofimpulsiveaudacity。Ihavetriedtodiscoversincethereasonforthismildness，andIimaginethatallunknowntomyselfIhadearned，inmyfather’smind，therighttosomelatitudeinmyrelationswithhiswriting-table。
　　Itwasonlyamonthbefore——orperhapsitwasonlyaweekbefore——thatIhadreadtohimaloudfrombeginningtoend，andtohisperfectsatisfaction，ashelayonhisbed，notbeingverywellatthetime，theproofsofhistranslationofVictorHugo’s"ToilersoftheSea。"Suchwasmytitletoconsideration，I
　　believe，andalsomyfirstintroductiontotheseainliterature。
　　IfIdonotrememberwhere，how，andwhenIlearnedtoread，Iamnotlikelytoforgettheprocessofbeingtrainedintheartofreadingaloud。Mypoorfather，anadmirablereaderhimself，wasthemostexactingofmasters。IreflectproudlythatImusthavereadthatpageof"TwoGentlemenofVerona"tolerablywellattheageofeight。ThenexttimeImetthemwasina5s。one-volumeeditionofthedramaticworksofWilliamShakespeare，readinFalmouth，atoddmomentsoftheday，tothenoisyaccompanimentofcalkers’malletsdrivingoakumintothedeck-seamsofashipindry-dock。Wehadrunin，inasinkingconditionandwiththecrewrefusingdutyafteramonthofwearybattlingwiththegalesoftheNorthAtlantic。Booksareanintegralpartofone’slife，andmyShakespearianassociationsarewiththatfirstyearofourbereavement，thelastIspentwithmyfatherinexile（hesentmeawaytoPolandtomymother’sbrotherdirectlyhecouldbracehimselfupfortheseparation），andwiththeyearofhardgales，theyearinwhichIcamenearesttodeathatsea，firstbywaterandthenbyfire。
　　ThosethingsIremember，butwhatIwasreadingthedaybeforemywritinglifebeganIhaveforgotten。IhaveonlyavaguenotionthatitmighthavebeenoneofTrollope’spoliticalnovels。AndIremember，too，thecharacteroftheday。Itwasanautumndaywithanopalineatmosphere，aveiled，semi-opaque，lustrousday，withfierypointsandflashesofredsunlightontheroofsandwindowsopposite，whilethetreesofthesquare，withalltheirleavesgone，werelikethetracingsofIndiainkonasheetoftissue-paper。ItwasoneofthoseLondondaysthathavethecharmofmysteriousamenity，offascinatingsoftness。TheeffectofopalinemistwasoftenrepeatedatBessboroughGardensonaccountofthenearnesstotheriver。
　　ThereisnoreasonwhyIshouldrememberthateffectmoreonthatdaythanonanyotherday，exceptthatIstoodforalongtimelookingoutofthewindowafterthelandlady’sdaughterwasgonewithherspoilofcupsandsaucers。Iheardherputthetraydowninthepassageandfinallyshutthedoor;andstillI
　　remainedsmoking，withmybacktotheroom。ItisveryclearthatIwasinnohastetotaketheplungeintomywritinglife，ifasplungethisfirstattemptmaybedescribed。Mywholebeingwassteepeddeepintheindolenceofasailorawayfromthesea，thesceneofnever-endinglabourandofunceasingduty。Foruttersurrendertoinindolenceyoucannotbeatasailorashorewhenthatmoodisonhim——themoodofabsoluteirresponsibilitytastedtothefull。ItseemstomethatIthoughtofnothingwhatever，butthisisanimpressionwhichishardlytobebelievedatthisdistanceofyears。WhatIamcertainofisthatIwasveryfarfromthinkingofwritingastory，thoughitispossibleandevenlikelythatIwasthinkingofthemanAlmayer。
　　Ihadseenhimforthefirsttime，somefouryearsbefore，fromthebridgeofasteamermooredtoaricketylittlewharffortymilesup，moreorless，aBorneanriver。Itwasveryearlymorning，andaslightmist——anopalinemistasinBessboroughGardens，onlywithoutthefieryflicksonroofandchimney-potfromtheraysoftheredLondonsun——promisedtoturnpresentlyintoawoollyfog。Barringasmalldug-outcanoeontherivertherewasnothingmovingwithinsight。Ihadjustcomeupyawningfrommycabin。TheserangandtheMalaycrewwereoverhaulingthecargochainsandtryingthewinches;theirvoicessoundedsubduedonthedeckbelow，andtheirmovementswerelanguid。Thattropicaldaybreakwaschilly。TheMalayquartermaster，cominguptogetsomethingfromthelockersonthebridge，shiveredvisibly。Theforestsaboveandbelowandontheoppositebanklookedblackanddank;wetdrippedfromtherigginguponthetightlystretcheddeckawnings，anditwasinthemiddleofashudderingyawnthatIcaughtsightofAlmayer。Hewasmovingacrossapatchofburnedgrass，ablurred，shadowyshapewiththeblurredbulkofahousebehindhim，alowhouseofmats，bamboos，andpalmleaves，withahigh-pitchedroofofgrass。
　　Hesteppeduponthejetty。Hewascladsimplyinflappingpajamasofcretonnepattern（enormousflowerswithyellowpetalsonadisagreeableblueground）andathincottonsingletwithshortsleeves。Hisarms，baretotheelbow，werecrossedonhischest。Hisblackhairlookedasifithadnotbeencutforaverylongtime，andacurlywispofitstrayedacrosshisforehead。IhadheardofhimatSingapore;Ihadheardofhimonboard;Ihadheardofhimearlyinthemorningandlateatnight;
　　Ihadheardofhimattiffinandatdinner;IhadheardofhiminaplacecalledPuloLautfromahalf-castegentlemanthere，whodescribedhimselfasthemanagerofacoal-mine;whichsoundedcivilizedandprogressivetillyouheardthattheminecouldnotbeworkedatpresentbecauseitwashauntedbysomeparticularlyatrociousghosts。IhadheardofhiminaplacecalledDongola，intheIslandofCelebes，whentheRajahofthatlittle-knownseaport（youcangetnoanchoragethereinlessthanfifteenfathom，whichisextremelyinconvenient）cameonboardinafriendlyway，withonlytwoattendants，anddrankbottleafterbottleofsoda-waterontheafter-skylightwithmygoodfriendandcommander，CaptainC————。AtleastIheardhisnamedistinctlypronouncedseveraltimesinalotoftalkinMalaylanguage。Oh，yes，Ihearditquitedistinctly——Almayer，Almayer——andsawCaptainC————smile，whilethefat，dingyRajahlaughedaudibly。TohearaMalayRajahlaughoutrightisarareexperience，Icanassureyou。AndIoverheardmoreofAlmayer’snameamongourdeckpassengers（mostlywanderingtradersofgoodrepute）astheysatallovertheship——eachmanfencedroundwithbundlesandboxes——onmats，onpillows，onquilts，onbilletsofwood，conversingofIslandaffairs。Uponmyword，IheardthemutterofAlmayer’snamefaintlyatmidnight，whilemakingmywayaftfromthebridgetolookatthepatenttaffrail-logtinklingitsquartermilesinthegreatsilenceofthesea。Idon’tmeantosaythatourpassengersdreamedaloudofAlmayer，butitisindubitablethattwoofthematleast，whocouldnotsleep，apparently，andweretryingtocharmawaythetroubleofinsomniabyalittlewhisperedtalkatthatghostlyhour，werereferringinsomewayorothertoAlmayer。ItwasreallyimpossibleonboardthatshiptogetawaydefinitelyfromAlmayer;andaverysmallponytiedupforwardandwhiskingitstailinsidethegalley，tothegreatembarrassmentofourChinamancook，wasdestinedforAlmayer。Whathewantedwithaponygoodnessonlyknows，sinceIamperfectlycertainhecouldnotrideit;buthereyouhavetheman，ambitious，aimingatthegrandiose，importingapony，whereasinthewholesettlementatwhichheusedtoshakedailyhisimpotentfisttherewasonlyonepaththatwaspracticableforapony：aquarterofamileatmost，hedgedinbyhundredsofsquareleaguesofvirginforest。Butwhoknows？TheimportationofthatBaliponymighthavebeenpartofsomedeepscheme，ofsomediplomaticplan，ofsomehopefulintrigue。WithAlmayeronecouldnevertell。Hegovernedhisconductbyconsiderationsremovedfromtheobvious，byincredibleassumptions，whichrenderedhislogicimpenetrabletoanyreasonableperson。Ilearnedallthislater。Thatmorning，seeingthefigureinpajamasmovinginthemist，Isaidtomyself，"That’stheman。"
　　Hecamequiteclosetotheship’ssideandraisedaharassedcountenance，roundandflat，withthatcurlofblackhairovertheforeheadandaheavy，painedglance。
　　"Goodmorning。"
　　"Goodmorning。"
　　Helookedhardatme：Iwasanewface，havingjustreplacedthechiefmatehewasaccustomedtosee;andIthinkthatthisnoveltyinspiredhim，asthingsgenerallydid，withdeep-seatedmistrust。
　　"Didn’texpectyoutillthisevening，"heremarked，suspiciously。
　　Ididn’tknowwhyheshouldhavebeenaggrieved，butheseemedtobe。Itookpainstoexplaintohimthat，havingpickedupthebeaconatthemouthoftheriverjustbeforedarkandthetideserving，CaptainC————wasenabledtocrossthebarandtherewasnothingtopreventhimgoinguptheriveratnight。
　　"CaptainC————knowsthisriverlikehisownpocket，"I
　　concluded，discursively，tryingtogetonterms。
　　"Better，"saidAlmayer。
　　Leaningovertherailofthebridge，IlookedatAlmayer，wholookeddownatthewharfinaggrievedthought。Heshuffledhisfeetalittle;heworestrawslipperswiththicksoles。Themorningfoghadthickenedconsiderably。Everythingroundusdripped——thederricks，therails，everysingleropeintheship——asifafitofcryinghadcomeupontheuniverse。
　　Almayeragainraisedhisheadand，intheaccentsofamanaccustomedtothebuffetsofevilfortune，asked，hardlyaudibly：
　　"Isupposeyouhaven’tgotsuchathingasaponyonboard？"
　　Itoldhim，almostinawhisper，forheattunedmycommunicationstohisminorkey，thatwehadsuchathingasapony，andI
　　hinted，asgentlyasIcould，thathewasconfoundedlyintheway，too。IwasveryanxioustohavehimlandedbeforeIbegantohandlethecargo。Almayerremainedlookingupatmeforalongwhile，withincredulousandmelancholyeyes，asthoughitwerenotasafethingtobelieveinmystatement。Thispatheticmistrustinthefavourableissueofanysortofaffairtouchedmedeeply，andIadded：
　　"Hedoesn’tseemabittheworseforthepassage。He’sanicepony，too。"
　　Almayerwasnottobecheeredup;forallanswerheclearedhisthroatandlookeddownagainathisfeet。Itriedtoclosewithhimonanothertack。
　　"ByJove！"Isaid。"Aren’tyouafraidofcatchingpneumoniaorbronchitisorsomething，walkingaboutinasingletinsuchawetfog？"
　　Hewasnottobepropitiatedbyashowofinterestinhishealth。
　　Hisanswerwasasinister"Nofear，"asmuchastosaythateventhatwayofescapefrominclementfortunewasclosedtohim。
　　"Ijustcamedown……"hemumbledafterawhile。
　　"Well，then，nowyou’rehereIwilllandthatponyforyouatonce，andyoucanleadhimhome。Ireallydon’twanthimondeck。He’sintheway。"
　　Almayerseemeddoubtful。Iinsisted：
　　"Why，Iwilljustswinghimoutandlandhimonthewharfrightinfrontofyou。I’dmuchratherdoitbeforethehatchesareoff。Thelittledevilmayjumpdowntheholdordosomeotherdeadlything。"
　　"There’sahalter？"postulatedAlmayer。
　　"Yes，ofcoursethere’sahalter。"AndwithoutwaitinganymoreIleanedoverthebridgerail。
　　"Serang，landTuanAlmayer’spony。"
　　Thecookhastenedtoshutthedoorofthegalley，andamomentlateragreatscufflebeganondeck。Theponykickedwithextremeenergy，thekalashesskippedoutoftheway，theserangissuedmanyordersinacrackedvoice。Suddenlytheponyleapeduponthefore-hatch。Hislittlehoofsthunderedtremendously;heplungedandreared。Hehadtossedhismaneandhisforelockintoastateofamazingwildness，hedilatedhisnostrils，bitsoffoamfleckedhisbroadlittlechest，hiseyesblazed。Hewassomethingunderelevenhands;hewasfierce，terrible，angry，warlike;hesaidha！ha！distinctly;heragedandthumped——andsixteenable-bodiedkalashesstoodroundhimlikedisconcertednursesroundaspoiledandpassionatechild。Hewhiskedhistailincessantly;hearchedhisprettyneck;hewasperfectlydelightful;hewascharminglynaughty。Therewasnotanatomofviceinthatperformance;nosavagebaringofteethandlayingbackofears。Onthecontrary，heprickedthemforwardinacomicallyaggressivemanner。Hewastotallyunmoralandlovable;
　　Iwouldhavelikedtogivehimbread，sugar，carrots。Butlifeisasternthingandthesenseofdutytheonlysafeguide。SoI
　　steeledmyheart，andfrommyelevatedpositiononthebridgeI
　　orderedthementoflingthemselvesuponhiminabody。
　　Theelderlyserang，emittingastrange，inarticulatecry，gavetheexample。Hewasanexcellentpettyofficer——verycompetent，indeed，andamoderateopium-smoker。Therestoftheminonegreatrushsmotheredthatpony。Theyhungontohisears，tohismane，tohistail;theylayinpilesacrosshisback，seventeeninall。Thecarpenter，seizingthehookofthecargo-chain，flunghimselfonthetopofthem。Averysatisfactorypettyofficer，too，buthestuttered。Haveyoueverheardalight-yellow，lean，sad，earnestChinamanstutterinPidgin-English？It’sveryweird，indeed。Hemadetheeighteenth。Icouldnotseetheponyatall;butfromtheswayingandheavingofthatheapofmenIknewthattherewassomethingaliveinside。
　　FromthewharfAlmayerhailed，inquaveringtones：
　　"Oh，Isay！"
　　Wherehestoodhecouldnotseewhatwasgoingonondeck，unless，perhaps，thetopsofthemen’sheads;hecouldonlyhearthescuffle，themightythuds，asiftheshipwerebeingknockedtopieces。Ilookedover："Whatisit？"
　　"Don’tletthembreakhislegs，"heentreatedme，plaintively。
　　"Oh，nonsense！He’sallrightnow。Hecan’tmove。"
　　Bythattimethecargo-chainhadbeenhookedtothebroadcanvasbeltroundthepony’sbody;thekalashessprangoffsimultaneouslyinalldirections，rollingovereachother;andtheworthyserang，makingadashbehindthewinch，turnedthesteamon。
　　"Steady！"Iyelled，ingreatapprehensionofseeingtheanimalsnatcheduptotheveryheadofthederrick。
　　OnthewharfAlmayershuffledhisstrawslippersuneasily。Therattleofthewinchstopped，andinatense，impressivesilencethatponybegantoswingacrossthedeck。
　　Howlimphewas！Directlyhefelthimselfintheairherelaxedeverymuscleinamostwonderfulmanner。Hisfourhoofsknockedtogetherinabunch，hisheadhungdown，andhistailremainedpendentinanervelessandabsoluteimmobility。HeremindedmevividlyofthepatheticlittlesheepwhichhangsonthecollaroftheOrderoftheGoldenFleece。Ihadnoideathatanythingintheshapeofahorsecouldbesolimpasthat，eitherlivingordead。Hiswildmanehungdownlumpily，ameremassofinanimatehorsehair;hisaggressiveearshadcollapsed，butashewentswayingslowlyacrossthefrontofthebridgeInoticedanastutegleaminhisdreamy，half-closedeye。Atrustworthyquartermaster，hisglanceanxiousandhismouthonthebroadgrin，waseasingoverthederrickwatchfully。Isuperintended，greatlyinterested。
　　"So！Thatwilldo。"
　　Thederrick-headstopped。Thekalasheslinedtherail。Theropeofthehalterhungperpendicularandmotionlesslikeabell-pullinfrontofAlmayer。Everythingwasverystill。Isuggestedamicablythatheshouldcatchholdoftheropeandmindwhathewasabout。Heextendedaprovokinglycasualandsuperiorhand。
　　"Lookout，then！Loweraway！"
　　Almayergatheredintheropeintelligentlyenough，butwhenthepony’shoofstouchedthewharfhegavewayallatoncetoamostfoolishoptimism。Withoutpausing，withoutthinking，almostwithoutlooking，hedisengagedthehooksuddenlyfromthesling，andthecargo-chain，afterhittingthepony’squarters，swungbackagainsttheship’ssidewithanoisy，rattlingslap。I
　　supposeImusthaveblinked。IknowImissedsomething，becausethenextthingIsawwasAlmayerlyingflatonhisbackonthejetty。Hewasalone。
　　AstonishmentdeprivedmeofspeechlongenoughtogiveAlmayertimetopickhimselfupinaleisurelyandpainfulmanner。Thekalashesliningtherailallhadtheirmouthsopen。Themistflewinthelightbreeze，andithadcomeoverquitethickenoughtohidetheshorecompletely。
　　"Howonearthdidyoumanagetolethimgetaway？"Iasked，scandalized。
　　Almayerlookedintothesmartingpalmofhisrighthand，butdidnotanswermyinquiry。
　　"Wheredoyouthinkhewillgetto？"Icried。"Arethereanyfencesanywhereinthisfog？Canheboltintotheforest？
　　What’stobedonenow？"
　　Almayershruggedhisshoulders。
　　"Someofmymenaresuretobeabout。Theywillgetholdofhimsoonerorlater。"
　　"Soonerorlater！That’sallveryfine，butwhataboutmycanvassling？——he’scarrieditoff。Iwantitnow，atonce，tolandtwoCelebescows。"
　　SinceDongolawehadonboardapairoftheprettylittleislandcattleinadditiontothepony。Tiedupontheothersideofthefore-decktheyhadbeenwhiskingtheirtailsintotheotherdoorofthegalley。ThesecowswerenotforAlmayer，however;theywereinvoicedtoAbdullahbinSelim，hisenemy。Almayer’sdisregardofmyrequirementswascomplete。
　　"IfIwereyouIwouldtrytofindoutwherehe’sgone，"I
　　insisted。"Hadn’tyoubettercallyourmentogetherorsomething？Hewillthrowhimselfdownandcuthisknees。Hemayevenbreakaleg，youknow。"
　　ButAlmayer，plungedinabstractedthought，didnotseemtowantthatponyanymore。Amazedatthissuddenindifference，Iturnedallhandsoutonshoretohuntforhimonmyownaccount，or，atanyrate，tohuntforthecanvasslingwhichhehadroundhisbody。Thewholecrewofthesteamer，withtheexceptionoffiremenandengineers，rushedupthejetty，pastthethoughtfulAlmayer，andvanishedfrommysight。Thewhitefogswallowedthemup;andagaintherewasadeepsilencethatseemedtoextendformilesupanddownthestream。Stilltaciturn，Almayerstartedtoclimbonboard，andIwentdownfromthebridgetomeethimontheafter-deck。
　　"WouldyoumindtellingthecaptainthatIwanttoseehimveryparticularly？"heaskedme，inalowtone，lettinghiseyesstrayallovertheplace。
　　"Verywell。Iwillgoandsee。"
　　Withthedoorofhiscabinwideopen，CaptainC————，justbackfromthebath-room，bigandbroad-chested，wasbrushinghisthick，damp，iron-grayhairwithtwolargebrushes。
　　"Mr。Almayertoldmehewantedtoseeyouveryparticularly，sir。"
　　Sayingthesewords，Ismiled。Idon’tknowwhyIsmiled，exceptthatitseemedabsolutelyimpossibletomentionAlmayer’snamewithoutasmileofasort。Ithadnottobenecessarilyamirthfulsmile。Turninghisheadtowardme，CaptainC————
　　smiled，too，ratherjoylessly。
　　"Theponygotawayfromhim——eh？"
　　"Yes，sir。Hedid。"
　　"Whereishe？"
　　"Goodnessonlyknows。"
　　"No。ImeanAlmayer。Lethimcomealong。"
　　Thecaptain’sstateroomopeningstraightondeckunderthebridge，IhadonlytobeckonfromthedoorwaytoAlmayer，whohadremainedaft，withdowncasteyes，ontheveryspotwhereIhadlefthim。Hestrolledupmoodily，shookhands，andatonceaskedpermissiontoshutthecabindoor。
　　"Ihaveaprettystorytotellyou，"werethelastwordsIheard。
　　Thebitternessoftonewasremarkable。
　　Iwentawayfromthedoor，ofcourse。ForthemomentIhadnocrewonboard;onlytheChinamancarpenter，withacanvasbaghungroundhisneckandahammerinhishand，roamedabouttheemptydecks，knockingoutthewedgesofthehatchesanddroppingthemintothebagconscientiously。HavingnothingtodoIjoinedourtwoengineersatthedooroftheengine-room。Itwasnearbreakfast-time。
　　"He’sturnedupearly，hasn’the？"commentedthesecondengineer，andsmiledindifferently。Hewasanabstemiousman，withagooddigestionandaplacid，reasonableviewoflifeevenwhenhungry。
　　"Yes，"Isaid。"Shutupwiththeoldman。Someveryparticularbusiness。"
　　"Hewillspinhimadamnedendlessyarn，"observedthechiefengineer。
　　Hesmiledrathersourly。Hewasdyspeptic，andsufferedfromgnawinghungerinthemorning。Thesecondsmiledbroadly，asmilethatmadetwoverticalfoldsonhisshavencheeks。AndI
　　smiled，too，butIwasnotexactlyamused。Inthatman，whosenameapparentlycouldnotbeutteredanywhereintheMalayArchipelagowithoutasmile，therewasnothingamusingwhatever。
　　Thatmorninghebreakfastedwithussilently，lookingmostlyintohiscup。Iinformedhimthatmymencameuponhisponycaperinginthefogontheverybrinkoftheeight-foot-deepwellinwhichhekepthisstoreofguttah。Thecoverwasoff，withnoonenearby，andthewholeofmycrewjustmissedgoingheelsoverheadintothatbeastlyhole。JurumudiItam，ourbestquartermaster，deftatfineneedlework，hewhomendedtheship’sflagsandsewedbuttonsonourcoats，wasdisabledbyakickontheshoulder。
　　BothremorseandgratitudeseemedforeigntoAlmayer’scharacter。
　　Hemumbled：
　　"Doyoumeanthatpiratefellow？"
　　"Whatpiratefellow？Themanhasbeenintheshipelevenyears，"
　　Isaid，indignantly。
　　"It’shislooks，"Almayermuttered，forallapology。
　　Thesunhadeatenupthefog。Fromwherewesatundertheafter-awningwecouldseeinthedistancetheponytiedup，infrontofAlmayer’shouse，toapostoftheveranda。Weweresilentforalongtime。AllatonceAlmayer，alludingevidentlytothesubjectofhisconversationinthecaptain’scabin，exclaimedanxiouslyacrossthetable：
　　"Ireallydon’tknowwhatIcandonow！"
　　CaptainC————onlyraisedhiseyebrowsathim，andgotupfromhischair。Wedispersedtoourduties，butAlmayer，halfdressedashewasinhiscretonnepajamasandthethincottonsinglet，remainedonboard，lingeringnearthegangway，asthoughhecouldnotmakeuphismindwhethertogohomeorstaywithusforgood。
　　OurChinamenboysgavehimsideglancesastheywenttoandfro;
　　andAhSing，ourchiefsteward，thehandsomestandmostsympatheticofChinamen，catchingmyeye，noddedknowinglyathisburlyback。InthecourseofthemorningIapproachedhimforamoment。
　　"Well，Mr。Almayer，"Iaddressedhim，easily，"youhaven’tstartedonyourlettersyet。"
　　Wehadbroughthimhismail，andhehadheldthebundleinhishandeversincewegotupfrombreakfast。HeglancedatitwhenIspoke，andforamomentitlookedasifhewereonthepointofopeninghisfingersandlettingthewholelotfalloverboard。I
　　believehewastemptedtodoso。Ishallneverforgetthatmanafraidofhisletters。
　　"HaveyoubeenlongoutfromEurope？"heaskedme。
　　"Notvery。Notquiteeightmonths，"Itoldhim。"IleftashipinSamarangwithahurtback，andhavebeeninthehospitalinSingaporesomeweeks。"
　　Hesighed。
　　"Tradeisverybadhere。"
　　"Indeed！"
　　"Hopeless！……Seethesegeese？"
　　Withthehandholdingthelettershepointedouttomewhatresembledapatchofsnowcreepingandswayingacrossthedistantpartofhiscompound。Itdisappearedbehindsomebushes。
　　"TheonlygeeseontheEastCoast，"Almayerinformedme，inaperfunctorymutterwithoutasparkoffaith，hope，orpride。
　　Thereupon，withthesameabsenceofanysortofsustainingspirit，hedeclaredhisintentiontoselectafatbirdandsendhimonboardforusnotlaterthannextday。
　　Ihadheardoftheselargessesbefore。Heconferredagooseasifitwereasortofcourtdecorationgivenonlytothetriedfriendsofthehouse。Ihadexpectedmorepompintheceremony。
　　Thegifthadsurelyitsspecialquality，multipleandrare。FromtheonlyflockontheEastCoast！Hedidnotmakehalfenoughofit。Thatmandidnotunderstandhisopportunities。However，I
　　thankedhimatsomelength。
　　"Yousee，"heinterrupted，abruptly，inaverypeculiartone，"theworstofthiscountryisthatoneisnotabletorealize……it’simpossibletorealize……"Hisvoicesankintoalanguidmutter。"Andwhenonehasverylargeinterests……
　　veryimportantinterests……"hefinished，faintly……"uptheriver。"
　　Welookedateachother。Heastonishedmebygivingastartandmakingaveryqueergrimace。
　　"Well，Imustbeoff，"heburstout，hurriedly。"Solong！"
　　Atthemomentofsteppingoverthegangwayhecheckedhimself，though，togivemeamumbledinvitationtodineathishousethateveningwithmycaptain，aninvitationwhichIaccepted。Idon’tthinkitcouldhavebeenpossibleformetorefuse。
　　Iliketheworthyfolkwhowilltalktoyouoftheexerciseoffree-will，"atanyrateforpracticalpurposes。"Free，isit？
　　Forpracticalpurposes！Bosh！HowcouldIhaverefusedtodinewiththatman？Ididnotrefuse，simplybecauseIcouldnotrefuse。Curiosity，ahealthydesireforachangeofcooking，commoncivility，thetalkandthesmilesoftheprevioustwentydays，everyconditionofmyexistenceatthatmomentandplacemadeirresistiblyforacceptance;and，crowningallthat，therewastheignorance——theignorance，Isay——thefatalwantofforeknowledgetocounterbalancetheseimperativeconditionsoftheproblem。Arefusalwouldhaveappearedperverseandinsane。
　　Nobody，unlessasurlylunatic，wouldhaverefused。ButifIhadnotgottoknowAlmayerprettywellitisalmostcertaintherewouldneverhavebeenalineofmineinprint。
　　Iacceptedthen——andIampayingyetthepriceofmysanity。ThepossessoroftheonlyflockofgeeseontheEastCoastisresponsiblefortheexistenceofsomefourteenvolumes，sofar。
　　Thenumberofgeesehehadcalledintobeingunderadverseclimaticconditionswasconsiderablymorethanfourteen。Thetaleofvolumeswillneverovertakethecountingofheads，Iamsafetosay;butmyambitionspointnotexactlythatway，andwhateverthepangsthetoilofwritinghascostmeIhavealwaysthoughtkindlyofAlmayer。
　　Iwonder，hadheknownanythingofit，whathisattitudewouldhavebeen？Thisissomethingnottobediscoveredinthisworld。
　　ButifweevermeetintheElysianFields——whereIcannotdepicthimtomyselfotherwisethanattendedinthedistancebyhisflockofgeese（birdssacredtoJupiter）——andheaddressesmeinthestillnessofthatpassionlessregion，neitherlightnordarkness，neithersoundnorsilence，andheavingendlesslywithbillowymistsfromtheimpalpablemultitudesoftheswarmingdead，IthinkIknowwhatanswertomake。
　　Iwouldsay，afterlisteningcourteouslytotheunvibratingtoneofhismeasuredremonstrances，whichshouldnotdisturb，ofcourse，thesolemneternityofstillnessintheleast——Iwouldsaysomethinglikethis：
　　"Itistrue，Almayer，thatintheworldbelowIhaveconvertedyournametomyownuses。Butthatisaverysmalllarceny。
　　What’sinaname，OShade？Ifsomuchofyouroldmortalweaknessclingstoyouyetastomakeyoufeelaggrieved（itwasthenoteofyourearthlyvoice，Almayer），then，Ientreatyou，seekspeechwithoutdelaywithoursublimefellow-Shade——withhimwho，inhistransientexistenceasapoet，commenteduponthesmelloftherose。Hewillcomfortyou。Youcametomestrippedofallprestigebymen’squeersmilesandthedisrespectfulchatterofeveryvagranttraderintheIslands。Yournamewasthecommonpropertyofthewinds;it，asitwere，floatednakedoverthewatersabouttheequator。Iwrappedrounditsunhonouredformtheroyalmantleofthetropics，andhaveessayedtoputintothehollowsoundtheveryanguishofpaternity——featswhichyoudidnotdemandfromme——butrememberthatallthetoilandallthepainweremine。Inyourearthlylifeyouhauntedme，Almayer。Considerthatthiswastakingagreatliberty。Sinceyouwerealwayscomplainingofbeinglosttotheworld，youshouldrememberthatifIhadnotbelievedenoughinyourexistencetoletyouhauntmyroomsinBessboroughGardens，youwouldhavebeenmuchmorelost。YouaffirmthathadIbeencapableoflookingatyouwithamoreperfectdetachmentandagreatersimplicity，Imighthaveperceivedbettertheinwardmarvellousnesswhich，youinsist，attendedyourcareeruponthattinypin-pointoflight，hardlyvisiblefar，farbelowus，wherebothourgraveslie。Nodoubt！Butreflect，OcomplainingShade！thatthiswasnotsomuchmyfaultasyourcrowningmisfortune。Ibelievedinyouintheonlywayitwaspossibleformetobelieve。Itwasnotworthyofyourmerits？Sobeit。
　　Butyouwerealwaysanunluckyman，Almayer。Nothingwaseverquiteworthyofyou。Whatmadeyousorealtomewasthatyouheldthisloftytheorywithsomeforceofconvictionandwithanadmirableconsistency。"
　　ItiswithsomesuchwordstranslatedintothepropershadowyexpressionsthatIampreparedtoplacateAlmayerintheElysianAbodeofShades，sinceithascometopassthat，havingpartedmanyyearsago，wearenevertomeetagaininthisworld。
　　V
　　Inthecareerofthemostunliteraryofwriters，inthesensethatliteraryambitionhadneverenteredtheworldofhisimagination，thecomingintoexistenceofthefirstbookisquiteaninexplicableevent。InmyowncaseIcannottraceitbacktoanymentalorpsychologicalcausewhichonecouldpointoutandholdto。Thegreatestofmygiftsbeingaconsummatecapacityfordoingnothing，Icannotevenpointtoboredomasarationalstimulusfortakingupapen。Thepen，atanyrate，wasthere，andthereisnothingwonderfulinthat。Everybodykeepsapen（thecoldsteelofourdays）inhisrooms，inthisenlightenedageofpennystampsandhalfpennypost-cards。Infact，thiswastheepochwhenbymeansofpostcardandpenMr。Gladstonehadmadethereputationofanovelortwo。AndI，too，hadapenrollingaboutsomewhere——theseldom-used，thereluctantlytaken-uppenofasailorashore，thepenruggedwiththedriedinkofabandonedattempts，ofanswersdelayedlongerthandecencypermitted，oflettersbegunwithinfinitereluctance，andputoffsuddenlytillnextday——tillnextweek，aslikeasnot！Theneglected，uncared-forpen，flungawayattheslightestprovocation，andunderthestressofdirenecessityhuntedforwithoutenthusiasm，inaperfunctory，grumpyworry，inthe"WherethedevilISthebeastlythinggoneto？"ungraciousspirit。
　　Where，indeed！Itmighthavebeenreposingbehindthesofaforadayorso。Mylandlady’sanemicdaughter（asOllendorffwouldhaveexpressedit），thoughcommendablyneat，hadalordly，carelessmannerofapproachingherdomesticduties。Oritmightevenberestingdelicatelypoisedonitspointbythesideofthetable-leg，andwhenpickedupshowagaping，inefficientbeakwhichwouldhavediscouragedanymanofliteraryinstincts。Butnotme！"Nevermind。Thiswilldo。"
　　Odayswithoutguile！Ifanybodyhadtoldmethenthatadevotedhousehold，havingagenerallyexaggeratedideaofmytalentsandimportance，wouldbeputintoastateoftremorandflurrybythefussIwouldmakebecauseofasuspicionthatsomebodyhadtouchedmysacrosanctpenofauthorship，Iwouldhaveneverdeignedasmuchasthecontemptuoussmileofunbelief。Thereareimaginingstoounlikelyforanykindofnotice，toowildforindulgenceitself，tooabsurdforasmile。Perhaps，hadthatseerofthefuturebeenafriend，Ishouldhavebeensecretlysaddened。"Alas！"Iwouldhavethought，lookingathimwithanunmovedface，"thepoorfellowisgoingmad。"
　　Iwouldhavebeen，withoutdoubt，saddened;forinthisworldwherethejournalistsreadthesignsofthesky，andthewindofheavenitself，blowingwhereitlisteth，doessounderthepropheticalmanagementofthemeteorologicaloffice，butwherethesecretofhumanheartscannotbecapturedbypryingorpraying，itwasinfinitelymorelikelythatthesanestofmyfriendsshouldnursethegermofincipientmadnessthanthatI
　　shouldturnintoawriteroftales。
　　Tosurveywithwonderthechangesofone’sownselfisafascinatingpursuitforidlehours。Thefieldissowide，thesurprisessovaried，thesubjectsofullofunprofitablebutcurioushintsastotheworkofunseenforces，thatonedoesnotwearyeasilyofit。Iamnotspeakinghereofmegalomaniacswhorestuneasyunderthecrownoftheirunboundedconceit——whoreallyneverrestinthisworld，andwhenoutofitgoonfrettingandfumingonthestraitenedcircumstancesoftheirlasthabitation，whereallmenmustlieinobscureequality。NeitheramIthinkingofthoseambitiousmindswho，alwayslookingforwardtosomeaimofaggrandizement，cansparenotimeforadetached，impersonalglanceuponthemselves。
　　Andthat’sapity。Theyareunlucky。Thesetwokinds，togetherwiththemuchlargerbandofthetotallyunimaginative，ofthoseunfortunatebeingsinwhoseemptyandunseeinggaze（asagreatFrenchwriterhasputit）"thewholeuniversevanishesintoblanknothingness，"miss，perhaps，thetruetaskofusmenwhosedayisshortonthisearth，theabodeofconflictingopinions。Theethicalviewoftheuniverseinvolvesusatlastinsomanycruelandabsurdcontradictions，wherethelastvestigesoffaith，hope，charity，andevenofreasonitself，seemreadytoperish，thatIhavecometosuspectthattheaimofcreationcannotbeethicalatall。Iwouldfondlybelievethatitsobjectispurelyspectacular：aspectacleforawe，love，adoration，orhate，ifyoulike，butinthisview——andinthisviewalone——neverfordespair！Thosevisions，deliciousorpoignant，areamoralendinthemselves。Therestisouraffair——thelaughter，thetears，thetenderness，theindignation，thehightranquillityofasteeledheart，thedetachedcuriosityofasubtlemind——that’souraffair！Andtheunweariedself-forgetfulattentiontoeveryphaseofthelivinguniversereflectedinourconsciousnessmaybeourappointedtaskonthisearth——ataskinwhichfatehasperhapsengagednothingofusexceptourconscience，giftedwithavoiceinordertobeartruetestimonytothevisiblewonder，thehauntingterror，theinfinitepassion，andtheillimitableserenity;tothesupremelawandtheabidingmysteryofthesublimespectacle。
　　Chilosa？Itmaybetrue。Inthisviewthereisroomforeveryreligionexceptfortheinvertedcreedofimpiety，themaskandcloakofariddespair;foreveryjoyandeverysorrow，foreveryfairdream，foreverycharitablehope。Thegreataimistoremaintruetotheemotionscalledoutofthedeepencircledbythefirmamentofstars，whoseinfinitenumbersandawfuldistancesmaymoveustolaughterortears（wasittheWalrusortheCarpenter，inthepoem，who"wepttoseesuchquantitiesofsand"？），or，again，toaproperlysteeledheart，maymatternothingatall。
　　Thecasualquotation，whichhadsuggesteditselfoutofapoemfullofmerit，leadsmetoremarkthatintheconceptionofapurelyspectacularuniverse，whereinspirationofeverysorthasarationalexistence，theartistofeverykindfindsanaturalplace;andamongthemthepoetastheseerparexcellence。Eventhewriterofprose，whoinhislessnobleandmoretoilsometaskshouldbeamanwiththesteeledheart，isworthyofaplace，providinghelooksonwithundimmedeyesandkeepslaughteroutofhisvoice，letwhowilllaughorcry。Yes！Evenhe，theproseartistoffiction，whichafterallisbuttruthoftendraggedoutofawellandclothedinthepaintedrobeofimaginedphrases——evenhehashisplaceamongkings，demagogues，priests，charlatans，dukes，giraffes，cabinetministers，Fabians，bricklayers，apostles，ants，scientists，Kafirs，soldiers，sailors，elephants，lawyers，dandies，microbes，andconstellationsofauniversewhoseamazingspectacleisamoralendinitself。
　　HereIperceive（withoutspeakingoffense）thereaderassumingasubtleexpression，asifthecatwereoutofthebag。Itakethenovelist’sfreedomtoobservethereader’smindformulatingtheexclamation："That’sit！Thefellowtalksprodomo。"
　　Indeeditwasnottheintention！WhenIshoulderedthebagIwasnotawareofthecatinside。But，afterall，whynot？ThefaircourtyardsoftheHouseofArtarethrongedbymanyhumbleretainers。Andthereisnoretainersodevotedashewhoisallowedtositonthedoorstep。Thefellowswhohavegotinsideareapttothinktoomuchofthemselves。Thislastremark，Ibegtostate，isnotmaliciouswithinthedefinitionofthelawoflibel。It’sfaircommentonamatterofpublicinterest。Butnevermind。Prodomo。Sobeit。Forhishousetantquevousvoudrez。AndyetintruthIwasbynomeansanxioustojustifymyexistence。Theattemptwouldhavebeennotonlyneedlessandabsurd，butalmostinconceivable，inapurelyspectacularuniverse，wherenosuchdisagreeablenecessitycanpossiblyarise。Itissufficientformetosay（andIamsayingitatsomelengthinthesepages）：J’aivecu。Ihaveexisted，obscureamongthewondersandterrorsofmytime，astheAbbeSieyes，theoriginaluttererofthequotedwords，hadmanagedtoexistthroughtheviolences，thecrimes，andtheenthusiasmsoftheFrenchRevolution。J’aivecu，asIapprehendmostofusmanagetoexist，missingallalongthevariedformsofdestructionbyahair’s-breadth，savingmybody，that’sclear，andperhapsmysoulalso，butnotwithoutsomedamagehereandtheretothefineedgeofmyconscience，thatheirloomoftheages，oftherace，ofthegroup，ofthefamily，colourableandplastic，fashionedbythewords，thelooks，theacts，andevenbythesilencesandabstentionssurroundingone’schildhood;tingedinacompleteschemeofdelicateshadesandcrudecoloursbytheinheritedtraditions，beliefs，orprejudices——unaccountable，despotic，persuasive，andoften，initstexture，romantic。
　　Andoftenromantic！……Thematterinhand，however，istokeepthesereminiscencesfromturningintoconfessions，aformofliteraryactivitydiscreditedbyJeanJacquesRousseauonaccountoftheextremethoroughnesshebroughttotheworkofjustifyinghisownexistence;forthatsuchwashispurposeispalpably，evengrossly，visibletoanunprejudicedeye。Butthen，yousee，themanwasnotawriteroffiction。Hewasanartlessmoralist，asisclearlydemonstratedbyhisanniversariesbeingcelebratedwithmarkedemphasisbytheheirsoftheFrenchRevolution，whichwasnotapoliticalmovementatall，butagreatoutburstofmorality。Hehadnoimagination，asthemostcasualperusalof"Emile"willprove。Hewasnonovelist，whosefirstvirtueistheexactunderstandingofthelimitstracedbytherealityofhistimetotheplayofhisinvention。Inspirationcomesfromtheearth，whichhasapast，ahistory，afuture，notfromthecoldandimmutableheaven。Awriterofimaginativeprose（evenmorethananyothersortofartist）standsconfessedinhisworks。Hisconscience，hisdeepersenseofthings，lawfulandunlawful，giveshimhisattitudebeforetheworld。Indeed，everyonewhoputspentopaperforthereadingofstrangers（unlessamoralist，who，generallyspeaking，hasnoconscienceexcepttheoneheisatpainstoproducefortheuseofothers）
　　canspeakofnothingelse。ItisM。AnatoleFrance，themosteloquentandjustofFrenchprose-writers，whosaysthatwemustrecognizeatlastthat，"failingtheresolutiontoholdourpeace，wecanonlytalkofourselves。"
　　Thisremark，ifIrememberrightly，wasmadeinthecourseofasparringmatchwiththelateFerdinandBrunetiereovertheprinciplesandrulesofliterarycriticism。Aswasfittingforamantowhomweowethememorablesaying，"Thegoodcriticishewhorelatestheadventuresofhissoulamongmasterpieces，"M。
　　AnatoleFrancemaintainedthattherewerenorulesandnoprinciples。Andthatmaybeverytrue。Rules，principles，andstandardsdieandvanisheveryday。Perhapstheyarealldeadandvanishedbythistime。These，ifever，arethebrave，freedaysofdestroyedlandmarks，whiletheingeniousmindsarebusyinventingtheformsofthenewbeaconswhich，itisconsolingtothink，willbesetuppresentlyintheoldplaces。Butwhatisinterestingtoawriteristhepossessionofaninwardcertitudethatliterarycriticismwillneverdie，forman（sovariouslydefined）is，beforeeverythingelse，acriticalanimal。Andaslongasdistinguishedmindsarereadytotreatitinthespiritofhighadventureliterarycriticismshallappealtouswithallthecharmandwisdomofawell-toldtaleofpersonalexperience。
　　ForEnglishmenespecially，ofalltheracesoftheearth，atask，anytask，undertakeninanadventurousspiritacquiresthemeritofromance。Butthecriticsasaruleexhibitbutlittleofanadventurousspirit。Theytakerisks，ofcourse——onecanhardlylivewithoutthat。Thedailybreadisservedouttous（howeversparingly）withapinchofsalt。Otherwiseonewouldgetsickofthedietonepraysfor，andthatwouldbenotonlyimproper，butimpious。Fromimpietyofthatoranyotherkind——saveus！Anidealofreservedmanner，adheredtofromasenseofproprieties，fromshyness，perhaps，orcaution，orsimplyfromweariness，induces，Isuspect，somewritersofcriticismtoconcealtheadventuroussideoftheircalling，andthenthecriticismbecomesamere"notice，"asitwere，therelationofajourneywherenothingbutthedistancesandthegeologyofanewcountryshouldbesetdown;theglimpsesofstrangebeasts，thedangersoffloodandfield，thehairbreadthescapes，andthesufferings（oh，thesufferings，too！Ihavenodoubtofthesufferings）ofthetravellerbeingcarefullykeptout;noshadyspot，nofruitfulplantbeingevermentionedeither;sothatthewholeperformancelookslikeamerefeatofagilityonthepartofatrainedpenrunninginadesert。Acruelspectacle——amostdeplorableadventure！"Life，"inthewordsofanimmortalthinkerof，I
　　shouldsay，bucolicorigin，butwhoseperishablenameislosttotheworshipofposterity——"lifeisnotallbeerandskittles。"
　　Neitheristhewritingofnovels。Itisn’t，really。Jevousdonnemaparoled’honneurthatit——is——not。NotALL。Iamthusemphaticbecausesomeyearsago，Iremember，thedaughterofageneral……
　　Suddenrevelationsoftheprofaneworldmusthavecomenowandthentohermitsintheircells，tothecloisteredmonksofmiddleages，tolonelysages，menofscience，reformers;therevelationsoftheworld’ssuperficialjudgment，shockingtothesoulsconcentratedupontheirownbitterlabourinthecauseofsanctity，orofknowledge，oroftemperance，letussay，orofart，ifonlytheartofcrackingjokesorplayingtheflute。Andthusthisgeneral’sdaughtercametome——orIshouldsayoneofthegeneral’sdaughtersdid。Therewerethreeofthesebachelorladies，ofnicelygraduatedages，whoheldaneighbouringfarm-houseinaunitedandmoreorlessmilitaryoccupation。Theeldestwarredagainstthedecayofmannersinthevillagechildren，andexecutedfrontalattacksuponthevillagemothersfortheconquestofcourtesies。Itsoundsfutile，butitwasreallyawarforanidea。Thesecondskirmishedandscoutedalloverthecountry;anditwasthatonewhopushedareconnaissancerighttomyverytable——Imeantheonewhoworestand-upcollars。
　　Shewasreallycallinguponmywifeinthesoftspiritofafternoonfriendliness，butwithherusualmartialdetermination。
　　Shemarchedintomyroomswingingherstick……butno——I
　　mustn’texaggerate。Itisnotmyspecialty。Iamnotahumoristicwriter。Inallsoberness，then，allIamcertainofisthatshehadasticktoswing。
　　Noditchorwallencompassedmyabode。Thewindowwasopen;thedoor，too，stoodopentothatbestfriendofmywork，thewarm，stillsunshineofthewidefields。Theylayaroundmeinfinitelyhelpful，but，truthtosay，Ihadnotknownforweekswhetherthesunshoneupontheearthandwhetherthestarsabovestillmovedontheirappointedcourses。Iwasjustthengivingupsomedaysofmyallottedspantothelastchaptersofthenovel"Nostromo，"
　　ataleofanimaginary（buttrue）seaboard，whichisstillmentionednowandagain，andindeedkindly，sometimesinconnectionwiththeword"failure"andsometimesinconjunctionwiththeword"astonishing。"Ihavenoopiniononthisdiscrepancy。It’sthesortofdifferencethatcanneverbesettled。AllIknowisthat，fortwentymonths，neglectingthecommonjoysoflifethatfalltothelotofthehumblestonthisearth，Ihad，liketheprophetofold，"wrestledwiththeLord"
　　formycreation，fortheheadlandsofthecoast，forthedarknessofthePlacidGulf，thelightonthesnows，thecloudsinthesky，andforthebreathoflifethathadtobeblownintotheshapesofmenandwomen，ofLatinandSaxon，ofJewandGentile。
　　Theseare，perhaps，strongwords，butitisdifficulttocharacterizeotherwisetheintimacyandthestrainofacreativeeffortinwhichmindandwillandconscienceareengagedtothefull，hourafterhour，dayafterday，awayfromtheworld，andtotheexclusionofallthatmakeslifereallylovableandgentle——somethingforwhichamaterialparallelcanonlybefoundintheeverlastingsombrestressofthewestwardwinterpassageroundCapeHorn。Forthat，too，isthewrestlingofmenwiththemightoftheirCreator，inagreatisolationfromtheworld，withouttheamenitiesandconsolationsoflife，alonelystruggleunderasenseofovermatchedlittleness，fornorewardthatcouldbeadequate，butforthemerewinningofalongitude。Yetacertainlongitude，oncewon，cannotbedisputed。Thesunandthestarsandtheshapeofyoureartharethewitnessesofyourgain;
　　whereasahandfulofpages，nomatterhowmuchyouhavemadethemyourown，areatbestbutanobscureandquestionablespoil。
　　Heretheyare。"Failure"——"Astonishing"：takeyourchoice;orperhapsboth，orneither——amererustleandflutterofpiecesofpapersettlingdowninthenight，andundistinguishable，likethesnowflakesofagreatdriftdestinedtomeltawayinsunshine。
　　"Howdoyoudo？"
　　Itwasthegreetingofthegeneral’sdaughter。Ihadheardnothing——norustle，nofootsteps。Ihadfeltonlyamomentbeforeasortofpremonitionofevil;Ihadthesenseofaninauspiciouspresence——justthatmuchwarningandnomore;andthencamethesoundofthevoiceandthejarasofaterriblefallfromagreatheight——afall，letussay，fromthehighestofthecloudsfloatingingentleprocessionoverthefieldsinthefaintwesterlyairofthatJulyafternoon。Ipickedmyselfupquickly，ofcourse;inotherwords，Ijumpedupfrommychairstunnedanddazed，everynervequiveringwiththepainofbeinguprootedoutofoneworldandflungdownintoanother——perfectlycivil。
　　"Oh！Howdoyoudo？Won’tyousitdown？"
　　That’swhatIsaid。Thishorriblebut，Iassureyou，perfectlytruereminiscencetellsyoumorethanawholevolumeofconfessionsalaJeanJacquesRousseauwoulddo。Observe！I
　　didn’thowlather，orstartupsettingfurniture，orthrowmyselfonthefloorandkick，orallowmyselftohintinanyotherwayattheappallingmagnitudeofthedisaster。ThewholeworldofCostaguana（thecountry，youmayremember，ofmyseaboardtale），men，women，headlands，houses，mountains，town，campo（therewasnotasinglebrick，stone，orgrainofsandofitssoilIhadnotplacedinpositionwithmyownhands）;allthehistory，geography，politics，finance;thewealthofCharlesGould’ssilver-mine，andthesplendourofthemagnificentCapatazdeCargadores，whosename，criedoutinthenight（Dr。Monyghamhearditpassoverhishead——inLindaViola’svoice），dominatedevenafterdeaththedarkgulfcontaininghisconquestsoftreasureandlove——allthathadcomedowncrashingaboutmyears。
　　IfeltIcouldneverpickupthepieces——andinthatverymomentIwassaying，"Won’tyousitdown？"
　　Theseaisstrongmedicine。Beholdwhatthequarter-decktrainingeveninamerchantshipwilldo！ThisepisodeshouldgiveyouanewviewoftheEnglishandScotsseamen（amuch-caricaturedfolk）whohadthelastsayintheformationofmycharacter。Oneisnothingifnotmodest，butinthisdisasterIthinkIhavedonesomehonourtotheirsimpleteaching。"Won’tyousitdown？"Veryfair;veryfair，indeed。Shesatdown。Heramusedglancestrayedallovertheroom。
　　TherewerepagesofMS。onthetableandunderthetable，abatchoftypedcopyonachair，singleleaveshadflutteredawayintodistantcorners;thereweretherelivingpages，pagesscoredandwounded，deadpagesthatwouldbeburnedattheendoftheday——thelitterofacruelbattle-field，ofalong，long，anddesperatefray。Long！IsupposeIwenttobedsometimes，andgotupthesamenumberoftimes。Yes，IsupposeIslept，andatethefoodputbeforeme，andtalkedconnectedlytomyhouseholdonsuitableoccasions。ButIhadneverbeenawareoftheevenflowofdailylife，madeeasyandnoiselessformebyasilent，watchful，tirelessaffection。Indeed，itseemedtomethatIhadbeensittingatthattablesurroundedbythelitterofadesperatefrayfordaysandnightsonend。Itseemedso，becauseoftheintensewearinessofwhichthatinterruptionhadmademeaware——theawfuldisenchantmentofamindrealizingsuddenlythefutilityofanenormoustask，joinedtoabodilyfatiguesuchasnoordinaryamountoffairlyheavyphysicallabourcouldeveraccountfor。Ihavecarriedbagsofwheatonmyback，bentalmostdoubleunderaship’sdeck-beams，fromsixinthemorningtillsixintheevening（withanhourandahalfoffformeals），soIoughttoknow。
　　AndIloveletters。Iamjealousoftheirhonourandconcernedforthedignityandcomelinessoftheirservice。Iwas，mostlikely，theonlywriterthatneatladyhadevercaughtintheexerciseofhiscraft，anditdistressedmenottobeabletorememberwhenitwasthatIdressedmyselflast，andhow。Nodoubtthatwouldbeallrightinessentials。Thefortuneofthehouseincludedapairofgray-bluewatchfuleyesthatwouldseetothat。ButIfelt，somehow，asgrimyasaCostaguanaleperoafteraday’sfightinginthestreets，rumpledalloveranddishevelleddowntomyveryheels。AndIamafraidIblinkedstupidly。Allthiswasbadforthehonouroflettersandthedignityoftheirservice。Seenindistinctlythroughthedustofmycollapseduniverse，thegoodladyglancedabouttheroomwithaslightlyamusedserenity。Andshewassmiling。Whatonearthwasshesmilingat？Sheremarkedcasually：
　　"IamafraidIinterruptedyou。"
　　"Notatall。"
　　Sheacceptedthedenialinperfectgoodfaith。Anditwasstrictlytrue。Interrupted——indeed！Shehadrobbedmeofatleasttwentylives，eachinfinitelymorepoignantandrealthanherown，becauseinformedwithpassion，possessedofconvictions，involvedingreataffairscreatedoutofmyownsubstanceforananxiouslymeditatedend。
　　Sheremainedsilentforawhile，thensaid，withalastglanceallroundatthelitterofthefray：
　　"Andyousitlikethisherewritingyour——your……"
　　"I——what？Oh，yes！Isithereallday。"
　　"Itmustbeperfectlydelightful。"
　　Isupposethat，beingnolongerveryyoung，Imighthavebeenonthevergeofhavingastroke;butshehadleftherdogintheporch，andmyboy’sdog，patrollingthefieldinfront，hadespiedhimfromafar。Hecameonstraightandswiftlikeacannon-ball，andthenoiseofthefight，whichburstsuddenlyuponourears，wasmorethanenoughtoscareawayafitofapoplexy。Wewentouthastilyandseparatedthegallantanimals。
　　AfterwardItoldtheladywhereshewouldfindmywife——justroundthecorner，underthetrees。Shenoddedandwentoffwithherdog，leavingmeappalledbeforethedeathanddevastationshehadlightlymade——andwiththeawfullyinstructivesoundoftheword"delightful"lingeringinmyears。
　　Nevertheless，lateron，Idulyescortedhertothefieldgate。I
　　wantedtobecivil，ofcourse（whataretwentylivesinamerenovelthatoneshouldberudetoaladyontheiraccount？），butmainly，toadoptthegood，soundOllendorffianstyle，becauseI
　　didnotwantthedogofthegeneral’sdaughtertofightagain（encore）withthefaithfuldogofmyinfantson（monpetitgarcon）。——WasIafraidthatthedogofthegeneral’sdaughterwouldbeabletoovercome（vaincre）thedogofmychild？——No，I
　　wasnotafraid……ButawaywiththeOllendorffmethod。HoweverappropriateandseeminglyunavoidablewhenItouchuponanythingappertainingtothelady，itismostunsuitabletotheorigin，character，andhistoryofthedog;forthedogwasthegifttothechildfromamanforwhomwordshadanythingbutanOllendorffianvalue，amanalmostchildlikeintheimpulsivemovementsofhisuntutoredgenius，themostsingle-mindedofverbalimpressionists，usinghisgreatgiftsofstraightfeelingandrightexpressionwithafinesincerityandastrongif，perhaps，notfullyconsciousconviction。Hisartdidnotobtain，Ifear，allthecredititsunsophisticatedinspirationdeserved。
　　IamalludingtothelateStephenCrane，theauthorof"TheRedBadgeofCourage，"aworkofimaginationwhichfounditsshortmomentofcelebrityinthelastdecadeofthedepartedcentury。
　　Otherbooksfollowed。Notmany。Hehadnotthetime。Itwasanindividualandcompletetalentwhichobtainedbutagrudging，somewhatsuperciliousrecognitionfromtheworldatlarge。Forhimselfonehesitatestoregrethisearlydeath。Likeoneofthemeninhis"OpenBoat，"onefeltthathewasofthosewhomfateseldomallowstomakeasafelandingaftermuchtoilandbitternessattheoar。Iconfesstoanabidingaffectionforthatenergetic，slight，fragile，intenselylivingandtransientfigure。Helikedme，evenbeforewemet，onthestrengthofapageortwoofmywriting，andafterwehadmetIamgladtothinkhelikedmestill。Heusedtopointouttomewithgreatearnestness，andevenwithsomeseverity，that"aboyOUGHTtohaveadog。"Isuspectthathewasshockedatmyneglectofparentalduties。
　　Ultimatelyitwashewhoprovidedthedog。Shortlyafterward，oneday，afterplayingwiththechildontherugforanhourorsowiththemostintenseabsorption，heraisedhisheadanddeclaredfirmly，"Ishallteachyourboytoride。"Thatwasnottobe。Hewasnotgiventhetime。
　　Buthereisthedog——anolddognow。Broadandlowonhisbandypaws，withablackheadonawhitebodyandaridiculousblackspotattheotherendofhim，heprovokes，whenhewalksabroad，smilesnotaltogetherunkind。Grotesqueandengaginginthewholeofhisappearance，hisusualattitudesaremeek，buthistemperamentdisclosesitselfunexpectedlypugnaciousinthepresenceofhiskind。Asheliesinthefirelight，hisheadwellup，andafixed，farawaygazedirectedattheshadowsoftheroom，heachievesastrikingnobilityofposeinthecalmconsciousnessofanunstainedlife。Hehasbroughtuponebaby，andnow，afterseeinghisfirstchargeofftoschool，heisbringingupanotherwiththesameconscientiousdevotion，butwithamoredeliberategravityofmanner，thesignofgreaterwisdomandriperexperience，butalsoofrheumatism，Ifear。
　　Fromthemorningbathtotheeveningceremoniesofthecot，youattendthelittletwo-leggedcreatureofyouradoption，beingyourselftreatedintheexerciseofyourdutieswitheverypossibleregard，withinfiniteconsideration，byeverypersoninthehouse——evenasImyselfamtreated;onlyyoudeserveitmore。
　　Thegeneral’sdaughterwouldtellyouthatitmustbe"perfectlydelightful。"
　　Aha！olddog。Sheneverheardyouyelpwithacutepain（it’sthatpoorleftear）thewhile，withincredibleself-command，youpreservearigidimmobilityforfearofoverturningthelittletwo-leggedcreature。Shehasneverseenyourresignedsmilewhenthelittletwo-leggedcreature，interrogated，sternly，"Whatareyoudoingtothegooddog？"answers，withawide，innocentstare：
　　"Nothing。Onlylovinghim，mammadear！"
　　Thegeneral’sdaughterdoesnotknowthesecrettermsofself-imposedtasks，gooddog，thepainthatmaylurkintheveryrewardsofrigidself-command。Butwehavelivedtogethermanyyears。Wehavegrownolder，too;andthoughourworkisnotquitedoneyetwemayindulgenowandtheninalittleintrospectionbeforethefire——meditateontheartofbringingupbabiesandontheperfectdelightofwritingtaleswheresomanylivescomeandgoatthecostofonewhichslipsimperceptiblyaway。
　　VI
　　Intheretrospectofalifewhichhad，besidesitspreliminarystageofchildhoodandearlyyouth，twodistinctdevelopments，andeventwodistinctelements，suchasearthandwater，foritssuccessivescenes，acertainamountofnaivenessisunavoidable。
　　Iamconsciousofitinthesepages。Thisremarkisputforwardinnoapologeticspirit。Asyearsgobyandthenumberofpagesgrowssteadily，thefeelinggrowsuponone，too，thatonecanwriteonlyforfriends。Thenwhyshouldoneputthemtothenecessityofprotesting（asafriendwoulddo）thatnoapologyisnecessary，orput，perchance，intotheirheadsthedoubtofone’sdiscretion？Somuchastothecareduetothosefriendswhomawordhere，alinethere，afortunatepageofjustfeelingintherightplace，somehappysimplicity，orevensomeluckysubtlety，hasdrawnfromthegreatmultitudeoffellowbeingsevenasafishisdrawnfromthedepthsofthesea。Fishingisnotoriously（Iamtalkingnowofthedeepsea）amatterofluck。Astoone’senemies，theywilltakecareofthemselves。
　　Thereisagentleman，forinstance，who，metaphoricallyspeaking，jumpsuponmewithbothfeet。Thisimagehasnograce，butitisexceedinglyapttotheoccasion——totheseveraloccasions。I
　　don’tknowpreciselyhowlonghehasbeenindulginginthatintermittentexercise，whoseseasonsareruledbythecustomofthepublishingtrade。Somebodypointedhimout（inprintedshape，ofcourse）tomyattentionsometimeago，andstraightwayIexperiencedasortofreluctantaffectionforthatrobustman。
　　Heleavesnotashredofmysubstanceuntrodden：forthewriter’ssubstanceishiswriting;therestofhimisbutavainshadow，cherishedorhatedonuncriticalgrounds。Notashred！Yetthesentimentownedtoisnotafreakofaffectationorperversity。